The girl was still there, and David recognized Ruth. She
was standing not far off and near the edge of the shed. Close behind her
the torches threw out gloomy banners of smoke and vivid streamers of
flame, and against them she appeared a quiet, white spirit among many
tossed dark shades. When David first saw her, he thought she was looking
at him. But in another moment her beautiful face, which had been pale
enough before, turned as white as her frock and her large eyes widened
with terror. And then David knew that she was looking beyond him and had
seen the horror by the tree. He forgot his own horrified faintness, he
forgot where he was, the doctor--everything but Ruth and that look in
her dear face. He sprang toward her with a piercing cry and outstretched
arms.
"Ruth!" he cried. "Here I am, Ruth, dear. I am coming to you. I'll take
you away!"
It was a single voice raised against the deafening roar of a hurricane.
Only the doctor heard or heeded, and he laid a restraining hand on
David's shoulder.
"You are right," he said. "Take her away as soon as you can.
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